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"I'm not, am I, Father?" said Marjorie, turning troubled eyes to her father. "No, Midget. Not those little chips of stones. A baby could wear those. And by the way, where is Baby's gift?" "My p'esent!" cried Rosy Posy, who had sat until now silent, in admiration of the unfolding wonders. "My p'esent, Middy! It's a palumasol!"
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